


There's A Room (Where The Light Won't Find You)

by Lunarium



Series: SSSS: Saga of the Mages (aka Mageverse) [3]
Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Action/Adventure, Dreamworld Shenanigans, F/F, F/M, Government Conspiracy, M/M, Magic-Users, Mikkel and Emil are the Silent World's Science Bros, Mystery, Romance, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 16:11:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8720284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunarium/pseuds/Lunarium
Summary: As the expedition crew make their way to the Odense University Hospital, a young woman in Sweden paints their journey as she envisions them in her dreams. Mikkel and Emil join their heads together to decipher a code left in the helix of a potential cure. Tuuri and Sigrun both learn that sometimes monsters outside the tank can be easier to defeat than the ones in the walls separating them.   And Reynir and Lalli embark on a miles-long journey while lying still, with nothing but the torn pages of Árni Reynisson's journal to guide them towards a startling discovery.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The first of the major longer pieces of the Mageverse (major as in, except this to be novel-sized by the end.) I've been slowly plotting this one ever since I read the comics, so it's been fun. :) I have some evil-fun ideas with this one. The setting here takes place during the "couple weeks" in Chapter 11, although I personally interpreted it as "few/several weeks" since I read "couples weeks" as being "a couples weeks later after the last panel on the previous page" so it looked like their journey took much longer. So...I'm taking some creative license for that just to make this story fit. 
> 
> I've also finished and opened the [**Mageverse info sheet**](http://broadbeam.dreamwidth.org/6976.html) so any readers can keep track of which story fits where in the 'verse, since I'm not writing things in order. And there's other tidbits of info there as well. 
> 
> Apologies if the first chapter here contains typos. I tried beta-reading this myself, but I also figured any typos for this section can be excused since this is all penned by Árni himself. But if anyone wishes to help me beta the remaining chapters, please let me know, and thank you. 
> 
> On to the story! :)

15.3.0

 

First day out of quarantine, and my first step as a man no longer in the Coast Guards. It seemed appropriate to begin this new era of my life with a new journal. I bought this from the first shop I stepped in as a free man on the coast of Reykjavik. I am sitting now in the hotel’s dining before I retire to my room. 

I’m hoping to leave the last three months behind me. Fourteen days spent in quarantine was a flimsy barrier from the truth of what my country’s government have ordered our ships to do. 

The horrible dreams have not stopped. The nightmares that lingered over my shoulder at the beginning of every shift have not stopped. I was still seeing a future more bleak than the night before, monsters lurking deep under the surface of the ocean, moving shadows in halls occupied by only cobwebs, the small model of the globe in the ship’s canteen caved in, taking with it Africa, Asia, the Atlantic…

Perhaps this was all an effect of remaining in the ship. I became a coast guard thinking it would be fun, an honor serving among my fellow men. Instead I was miserable. I have done things I am not proud of and will never forgive myself for. I can scarcely even write to my parents of my time in the coast guard. Writing my thoughts here is easier; I’ve always had a preference for writing, in any case. 

But I will be happy again once I am settled in my new home. I will free myself from these dreams and this dark time. 

But, I suppose here is a good place to bring up one flicker of peculiarity that has kept my spirits high: it seems in all of my dreams I’ve had a companion in the form of a singular large muskox. Always the same one. I do not understand the meaning of him. He has appeared in every one of my dreams. Every time I look over my shoulder, he is there, grazing on some grass until my eyes fall on him, and he looks up as if waiting for me to greet him as a friend. The first night it happened, about a week or so after Iceland had closed her borders, I was terrified that he was an agent of the devil coming to drag my soul into hellfire, but he is a gentle animal, despite his size. 

As dark as my dreams got, I found comfort in his presence. He never attacked me. If he sensed I was distressed, he’d snort and shake his head as means of gaining my attention, and he’d lead me away from the sight. I have turned nightmares into dull but benign dreams of just staring out into endless stars with this muskox beside me. 

That could be why I feel a yearning to seek out a farm for myself, somewhere remote, more inland or away from the busiest cities. If there was anything these dreams have revealed to me, it was that I’ve had enough adventure to last several lifetimes. 

Just thinking about that ox now makes me comforted. I think I will retire to my rooms right now and call it a day. I have tasted a little normalcy doing a bit of shopping and eating in here while pretending this dreadful epidemic had never broken out. Now, sleep calls for me on a soft bed with a solid ground beneath. 

Let us see if that muskox returns. Good night!

~ ~ ~

16.3.0

 

Bloody ox! 

I am not even out of my bed yet, but I had to reach for this journal and jot this down. 

Not only had my ox companion appeared in my dream again last night, but this was my strangest dream yet. Maybe I was simply excited in knowing I would not wake up to another shift in that dreadful Viking. Perhaps I had a little too much to drink. I may have gotten carried away at the bar, now that I think back. 

I dreamt I had crossed Reykjavik at an inhuman speed, but I was not riding no car nor train nor any kind of vehicle I could see. I passed over cities and small towns and fields. And each time I looked around myself there my companion was, beside me. 

I cannot explain what was happening, but the dream wasn’t dreadful, so I allowed myself to enjoy it. I soared through all of Iceland, and I realized I wanted to see every inch of her before I could settle in my new home. It would be fantastic to wake up and know exactly where my next destination was, I thought! 

A moment later I was aware I was riding a horse down a great expanse of green field, the sun golden-white behind silvery mountains. I had never encountered such land before. I thought back to ever map I knew, every news reporting, when TV stations still regularly aired, but I could not find much luck. 

Then something caught my eye, and I knew instantly the reason for my dream taking me there: sheep! So many of them huddled together, forming a warm white and grey blanket over the green grass. I rode past them, counting as many as I could. Their bleating brought a smile to my face, and I laughed so much it must have carried and echoed throughout the lands! 

They accumulated atop a hill, but dispersed on the other side. As I drew around the hill, my eyes first fell on light capturing the rays of the sun in colors I have no words for. A horse, so different from mine, with a mane so long that it touched the grass, looked up as I approached. 

So did the woman beside the horse. 

The first I noted of her was her striking resemblance to my people’s tales of the álfur. Her beauty was unmatched. Her face was long: chin pointy, nose a little upturned, the color of her eyes shining under the sunlight. Freckles ran across the upper bridge of her nose. I could not tear my eyes from her, not from the flaxen hair, so straight and blowing slightly in the breeze, nor from the vividness of her green eyes, more real and sharp than any blade of grass in spring. 

If she were to be my new companion along with the muskox, her and her horse, I would not complain. 

But upon seeing me, she stood upright. First shock filled her eyes, and then came the scowl. It took me a moment to understand why, but the thought came to me as if I could suddenly understand her own thoughts: I was trespassing through her land. 

I awoke then. My own embarrassment in front of a beautiful woman pulled me out of a dream. 

Isn’t that a riot!

~ ~ ~

23.3.0

 

The last few days have been busy for me. After I heard news of more the epidemic having claimed most of North America, I decided to leave Reykjavik. I cannot bear hearing more ill news, not with the knowledge of some friends there and what their situation may be. Internet connection has been unreliable, so I cannot check my emails to see how my friends in Chicago and Philadelphia are doing. I feel isolated. Strangely, that is my intent, but without contact with friends, it is terribly lonely. 

And so I have occupied myself with the task of finding my farm. Luckily I have found one farm very far up north of here that sounds it will meet my needs. I’ve secured transportation to visit the old property. It’s not inland as I had hoped, but there is something about it that draws me to it. I recall a couple was meant to restore the old farm, but after the breakout of the Illness the project had been halted. I would like to see the land myself. 

I am traveling there by train right now. The place is right by the coast, where I believe was bordered off due to risks of the sea beasts. But I believe I can convince them to use the land for farming so long as I can find residence in the nearest sanctioned land. That the coast is part of a fjord may play into my favor, as there aren’t many sightings there. 

It will be quiet and cut off from the rest of the world. I like that.

~ ~ ~

25.3.0

 

Her name is Elva Víðisdóttir. I apologized the moment I could about barging into her land. 

She smiled and told me strange mages who enter one another’s havens are fated to be together. 

I do not like where this dream is going.

~ ~ ~

Elva Víðisdóttir. ღ

~ ~ ~

27.3.0

 

Not more than twelve days after quarantine, and I am up here in the north coast of Strandabyggð, in another hotel, far smaller than the one in Reykjavik. I’m waiting for my lease to be accepted. Though my first choice would have been to settle inland, I have fallen in love with this farm. There are no neighbors on either side of me. It is far from any city, miles away from the nearest restaurant or hotel or grocery store. The windows point into the fjords. It will keep my distance from the rest of the world and its problems. It is perfect. 

From afar it looks like a tiny castle by the beach, and there is plenty of land for sheep to graze and move about without being bothered. A single winding road and a long hill separates us from the rest of the world. The sea is a concern, but I believe I can convince the mayor my presence will be safe. In any event, I spent the evening looking for the closest apartments or houses I can buy that will be near the farm. If I cannot live in it, then I can at least live at the edge of the barrier. 

The farmhouse itself will take a long time to rebuild. There are graffiti to remove from the outside and inside. The checkered tiles are ugly, but they are good quality save for a corner were erosion has taken place. The second story is virtually unlivable until more work is done. I couldn’t even dare myself to walk on the landing for long lest the entire farmhouse ended up caving in like the barn next to it. 

Yes, that barn. It will need to be rebuilt from the ground up. 

I cannot wait to begin work on it. 

 

14.4.0 

The lease and Elva have come to me on the same day. By then the farmhouse has grown very attached to my mind that I see it even in my dreams. It appears to have become my Haven, this little castle by the fjord with my loyal muskox and our own herd of sheep. It’s very quiet. For the first time, I am unbothered by any horrible dreams. 

Elva visited me in my Haven. Just as I had simply barged into her Haven uninvited and unannounced, she had done the same. She couldn’t stop laughing at me, and I was growing irritated at her. Her voice was shaking my quiet Haven! 

She said she came to give me a house warming gift, and she crouched down and placed something into the earth before sprinting off like a gazelle. 

I didn’t have to search long because the colors were so vivid against the coast: it was a garden gnome, like that silly TV show I always refused to watch with my cousins. Weird girl. I was shaking my head over the incident before I realized: Elva had left a part of herself in my own Haven. That was…nice. 

When I awoke, I learned mail had arrived for me, and among them was my lease for the farmhouse. 

Thank you, Elva’s garden gnome. Perhaps you are lucky after all.

~ ~ ~

23.9.0

 

I have not been doing a good job keeping this journal updated, but I had my reasons. My top priority has become the new farm. I’ve been pouring all of the money I’ve earned while a coast guard, and the money from my previous jobs and my savings, into this project. 

I’m only writing here now because of a new dream that has gone beyond the usual Elva-comes-to-torment-me-in-my-Haven episode. 

When I am truly alone with my fylgja (as I had learned what the muskox was), I sometimes venture to the very edge of my Haven, where the sea stretches seemingly forever. Perhaps there is less light in the world in my dreams, but there always seems to be more stars, and the water is black. A few times I’ve seen Elva come from that direction—curious as it would mean she lives even farther north in Iceland than me, though she tells me she lives south of me, somewhere to the south and east of me. 

In any event, I like to dangle my legs into the water although she’s warned me there are dangers within. I’ve never seen them with my own eyes. The dangers are not here. They are out there, on that ship I’ve long abandoned. 

But I became afraid one dream-night when I saw a tiny boat, made of a large leaf, floating aimlessly in the water. Somehow I knew there was a baby in there, and I was afraid something might get to it. 

I wasn’t feeling confident about my own swimming skills, even in a dream, but I tried my best to will the bundle in the leaf towards me. To my relief, it worked. If everyone I meet in my dreams is also a mage, as Elva had told me before, then this child must be the youngest mage yet. The little curls on her head were very a pale color, and her eyes a bit grey. She was carefully tucked into the leaf, sleeping until she reached the coasts of my Haven. Then she opened her eyes and glanced up. 

Somehow I knew she would grow to become a powerful mage, but she seemed vulnerable there on the ocean alone. Hadn’t any of her parents become mages? I figured with people just randomly waking up and learning they are mages among the waking of trolls and beasts, her mother or father would would come running in here to bring her back to safety. 

Perhaps they were awake and catching up on some work while their child slept. I imagine it wouldn’t be easy to have a child at this time, especially if, if the writing on the corner of her blanket was an indication, the family was from Finland. I’m not even certain how I came into contact with someone so far away, and I hope they hadn’t abandoned her—or a worse thought, she was orphaned during her doomed family’s escape from the illness. 

Or perhaps this is another quirk of dreams: whoever is available gets a little baby mage at their doorstep to look after, from any part of the world. Lucky me. 

No, I’m just kidding. It was fine. I usually don’t do anything when I am asleep but sit around at my Haven. It would be useless to work on the farmhouse. It’s usually in a better shape here than in the real world, and nothing I do here will effect it (I don’t think. I never tried.) I’m not even sure if I can just sleep and shut off the world completely. But in any event, I didn’t mind playing babysitter as long as the child didn’t expect me to change or feed her. 

She was lovely company. Made me miss the internet and the friends I had from around the world all on my Twitter feed. There weren’t any fylgja following her like my muskox or Elva’s horse, but since she had woken, she was kicking around and feeling the air with her little arms and legs and laughing at little moments. She liked my nose. 

She inspired me to do a little magic just for her. No matter how often Elva stops by to tell me about being a mage, how I must accept my gift, and trying to teach me how to write runes and offering to pass along resources to me, I refuse to go deeper than these dreams. I accept this odd woman, be she human or elf, and this muskox, and dreams that allow me to befriend tiny mages from Finland. But that is the extent of it. 

I wasn’t sure what I was capable of doing, but just as I willed that leaf-boat to come near me, I willed some small twigs and rocks to spin between two outstretched hands before her eyes. She was instantly enchanted, awed into silence. Then she shrieked with joy and flailed her arms. I succeeded in entertaining her, and it felt great. 

Of course, I met my adversary soon after. A young girl, just old enough for preschool if they were still open, came walking on the water. Walking on the water, I must stress, though in retrospect I suppose I never before noticed how Elva had exactly come to me before. This young girl’s hair and brows and lashes: they were all silver, almost white, and her cheeks had a faint pink blush. She ran up to my new young friend and spoke in a language I could not understand for a few moments before my ears, somehow, adjusted. 

“There you are!” she said to the baby, who laughed. To me she smiled shyly.

I greeted her and offered my name. And she laughed and cuddled up the baby in one arm while helping her to wave to me with the other. 

“Did you like visiting your friend Árni, Ensi Taika?” she said. 

And then I heard yelling off in the distance. 

“Láilá! Return at once!” 

Looking up I saw another person—another mage!—though I could not guess the age from this distance. Perhaps she couldn’t walk on water. She stood atop a rowboat and held out an ornament which I recognized instantly. My friend from Chicago had sent me one before, which is currently still in my parents’ house. It’s called a Hamsa, and it is shaped like a hand with an eye in the palm. The blue eye is meant to ward off bad spirits. I remembered what Elva told me about the water being dangerous, and somehow I believed it then, especially after seeing the way the blue eye glow in the dark. 

The mage turned and spoke loudly and angrily to her partner, and I could almost laugh at recognizing the Arabic. How I missed it! 

Láilá thanked me for taking care of Ensi Taika before running back to the other mages. 

I in at a daze, first that my new friend had left so soon, and that another young mage had appeared, walking over the water. And more mages after that! I wonder where they came from, and where else this water leads. Perhaps I should try walking on it some day? 

_**NO!** _

What am I thinking?!

~ ~ ~

11.1.1

 

Yesterday Elva visited me, but not in my dream. I was expecting her to visit, as she had been promising to see me for months now. I can now report, in both regret and relief, that she is not of the álfur. Her distinctly human-shaped ears were the first things I paid attention to, though the rest of her face and mannerism remains as elven as you would imagine. 

She brought her books on magic and runes into the farmhouse with her, for my benefit she said, and spent the morning placing protective spells around the house and down the coast, although the place has been quite peaceful enough that I sometimes fell asleep in the house itself at night and never had any cause for concern. 

Thankfully there were no garden gnomes placed on my land. I’ve already had the barn completely redone and already housing a few sheep I had bought with my savings. 

At Elva’s insistence, she aided me with the farmhouse. Since my last entry I’ve had the second story done and sturdy enough that it wouldn’t cave in. It was virtually livable now, save for a few more details around and inside. Elva helped with removing the graffiti and cleaning out the cobwebs from inside cabinets. I didn’t even ask for her help, but she was happy to pitch in. And to be honest, she was nice company. Not as annoying as when she visits me in dreams. 

She told me about herself as she worked. Turns out she’s a professor at the University of Akureyri, a teacher of Media Studies. I never would have thought! Would have taken her to being a professional tree hugger if you asked me! 

She has a younger sister named Guðrún, but they do not share a last name. Her mother, Saga, married two men. The first, Víðir, had his head full of fairies as much as Elva; one day he went running off into the blue and was never heard from again. Somehow, this doesn’t surprise me. The second man poor Saga married was a lot more down to Earth: Einar, and with him she had Guðrún. 

Despite being half-sisters, the two absolutely adore each other. They are the sort who always go to the new franchise film on opening night, or are first in line for the new book by their favorite author. They love their fantasy books and superheroes and folklore and just about anything that requires a little bit of imagination and belief in the unseen. Weird, but they seem like a happy, stable family regardless. Guðrún had not become a mage like her sister, but she regards Elva with so much awe. It is as though her own sister had been revealed to be a Disney princess. ~~With that long hair of hers, she really does look like one.~~

I’m starting to understand Elva’s enthusiasm for magic. It’s literally in her genes. 

But I myself still can not get into the whole craft. I resisted using magic in my renovations of this farmhouse. Save for the dreams, which I could not stop in any event, I was blissfully magic-less. Up here by the fjord was so quiet that it was easy to forget the rest of the world below this point. I told this to Elva, and she didn’t seem pleased at first, but then she laughed and said, while putting on a fake accent, “Yer a wizard, Árni!” 

Of course, I understood the reference. I had not read the books as they weren’t to my taste, but I knew where the line was from. She continued to torment me throughout her stay with numerous quotes from other books and films. We got into talking about the illness. It was impossible not to. Either I heard quote after quote meant to motivate me, or I thought of a more controversial subject to get her talking. Unfortunately the two collided into one franken-monster of a conversation. 

I confessed my earlier meetings of other mages to her, which seemed to please her. She too has taken note of them, but I was glad to change the subject before she spoke too long about any of them. 

I do not recall what we were arguing about. The memories of that awful ship resurfaced in my mind, and I cried out my conviction of never stepping out beyond the walls I have built for myself. 

That was when she merely stared at me and recited one final line:

  
       The wide world is all about you: you can fence yourselves in, but you cannot forever fence it out.  


 

I remember these words clearly. The way she said it with that triumphant smile made me pause, and I gave her a cold look.

“Please tell me you are not planning anything,” I said, and she laughed. She assured me she wasn’t, but she warned me. As a mage, I couldn’t turn my back on my destiny. This was starting to sound too much like one of those fantasy stories she and her sister reads, and I didn’t like this one bit. 

She wanted me to do something with my powers, but I was not having any of this. I think the look on my face was enough to shut her up. For now. 

Thankfully the conversation eventually moved away from me. Beyond bringing me books on Icelandic magic and giving me dire warnings that sound like they came from a book, she didn’t push the matter further. She was excellent help around the farmhouse, so I felt it wasn’t right for me to get angry with her. Weird as she was, her help was appreciated. At least I knew her entire visit wasn’t in trying to sway me into joining her in elfdom. And I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. 

I didn’t have much with me in terms of dinner, but I made tea and some toast with butter, and we ate on the rooftop. The roof of the castle, where it was flat and perfect for watching the sky. It was getting a little chilly, so I brought some blankets for us to wrap around in. 

Elva fell asleep. We were sitting side by side when she laid out on the rooftop with her arms behind her head for support, wrapped under one blanket, and just fell asleep. I rested back and stared at the stars, unsure if I should wake her. We both worked hard, so she deserved some sleep. I was worried she might get cold, but my blankets were large and very thick. It would keep her warm. 

Her snoozing lulled me to sleep right beside her. I tried to fight it off, but I was pulled right into sleep with her. 

I had anticipated to wake up right on the rooftop of my Haven’s farmhouse, or on Elva’s Haven since we were both beside each other, but I was in neither. Instead, I had my strangest dream yet. Really, the strangest. I was in multiple places. I cannot fully explain it or the how, but I felt I was watching the past, present, and future unfold before my eyes. 

This is what I saw: 

I was somewhere in Finland by a riverbank, and there was a boat. A flash had just sparked beside me—someone took a picture. I heard commotion as a small family emerged with a very pregnant lady among them. I followed them to a sauna, heard the woman crying—complaining, I realized, as my ears adjusted to their language—that she never wanted a sauna labor, then moments later asking for someone to bring in Saku. 

Somehow I understood I was witnessing the birth of my young mage friend. A tiny girl with blonde hair ran past me. Yes, it was who I suspected. She was the one who had taken the picture, that tiny girl. It was Láilá. 

A man was suddenly beside me, and I turned. Our eyes met. My heart dropped in compassion and fear, and my hand shot out to comfort Saku despite my better judgement. His eyes met mine, and for a moment we could see each other—he was a mage as well, a mage waking in this new world, though he was dying before me. His haunted eyes sought mine for hope under the fringe that tried to hide the rash around his temples. 

The scene changed. Another young photographer, but older than the Sami girl. Her dog lay around her feet as her parents and grandparents worked in sealing the cabin shut from the storm. 

Many miles from them, and perhaps a few months later, was another family, deserted at an airport. From their phone they watched their home in the States getting swallowed by the storm. A soft whimper reached my ears. They spoke in English and Swedish; they had come here to visit relatives, but were now stranded, unable to ever return home. 

The name on their luggage read “Lindstrom.” The girl with them, Stella, there is something peculiar about her… I must have seen her again. In another vision, but she looks different. Eyes had become green, and she is younger, though she is a skeleton on a hospital bed, looking up, but her eyes widen as though she sees me and she reaches up. Her mother beside her doesn’t know what has transpired. A few years later I see the girl again, no longer thin, slowly eating back into better health. She still sees me, but she never says anything. I rush out of this vision as quickly as I can. 

I next found myself surrounded by tall shadows caused by mountains. Lovers have become allies in battle for survival. Love has given to conducts of honor and courage. Their culture builds on it. Guns to knives and spears crafted by mutual love and the need to protect against a common enemy. That was when I caught glimpse of a great moving shadow against the mountain wall and I fled again. 

I next found myself in a farm, surrounded by a family buzzing. A woman looking out of place, learning, fusing with the farm family. The smile in her face roots me to the spot, finding a kindred spirit in her. Whoever she was, she hated her old job; this crumbling world has opened a new one right into her palm. Though somewhere deep in her eyes is a wilderness, mischief that makes farm life seem unsuited to her that it makes me wonder how she will enjoy living like this for many years. 

As I pondered this, her face changed before me, as if time sped before my eyes, and she was melting into her decedents. I was suddenly looking right into a face vaguely resembling his ancestor: a man with sideburns, hair similar to the woman’s. In his eyes were the same mischief, though in him they were carefully tucked away as he perused the pages of an old book. 

I took a step back and peered around me. Sitting near the Danish man was a younger lad, Swedish like the younger photographer with the dog by her feet. Here a kitten was curled on his lap as he was staring at the man, perhaps waiting for him to say something. Beside his elbow was an old rusty bunsen burner. What were they planning, I didn’t know and didn’t care. 

I stepped away from them and saw more. Ensi Taika had split into two. I saw her in the young woman who was sitting near a Norwegian. This version of Ensi Taika was trying to steer her into a book, admiration and longing in her eyes, but the other woman was a untamed creature. I hoped the lady well in catching her eye. 

The other was a young man, hunched over. To my surprise I realized he had been sleeping under the bunk beds. I do not know if it was an arrangement he preferred; the others in his party showed no interest in sleep, so he could have had any bunk to sleep in, but he appeared to enjoy this spot under the bunk beds. 

He settled himself under the covers, but he did not close his eyes. He was waiting for someone, and I saw him enter moments later. 

Every hair on my body stood on end. 

The young man looked just like me, save that his eyes were like Elva’s, and he had inherited her freckles. His hair was ridiculously long, an elven look about him. A mage.

He was smiling at Ensi Taika’s boy with a vague fondness, something which was mirrored in the longing from the Finnish mage. I recognized it, and I was embarrassed, hoping I was not about to witness something about to take place with my own descendent. 

I took one step back, and I was suddenly no longer in this strange place. I hoped my strange dream had ended, that I would wake soon with the sunlight on my face, Elva waking me with more strange things to torment me with. 

But before I was saved from this dream, I had one final vision: of that girl from Sweden who would not be born until years after I am gone. The only one who seemed to see me back. 

She slept in her bed, the sunlight peeking through the gaps of the shutters in her room, the light on her face. Her eyes flew open once I got near. Instantly she spotted me and smiled. 

Before I finally awoke, she spoke to me: 

“You again.”

**Author's Note:**

> The line "The wide world is all about you: you can fence yourselves in, but you cannot forever fence it out" comes from _Lord of the Rings_. Remember those words, Árni.


End file.
